A Shadow of the Past
by elhalfling
Summary: Elrond's gone in battle and something is bothering Glorfindel. Can Erestor provide him comfort? And will Glorfindel accept this unexpected action from his friend?


Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Tolkien. This is happening when Elrond and Gil-galad are off in battle, in what is later known as the Last Alliance. Elrond has been gone for about two or three months...

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"Do what you think is necessary, Erestor," Glorfindel said with a sigh. It was late on a Tuesday afternoon and he and Erestor had been meeting for the entire day to discuss affairs with the surrounding areas. This wasn't exactly his idea of fun. Glorfindel of Gondolin was a soldier, not a diplomat. "As long as we do not invite war to our doorstep, things will be fine."

Erestor eyed Glorfindel carefully, peering into the blonde Elf's eyes with his dark ones. Glorfindel himself had often said that the eyes were the window into a soul and, for once, Erestor had believed him about this. But Erestor also knew he didn't have any special skills as far as seeing into another's soul, as many of the other Elves did.

"Agreed," Erestor said, giving up at seeing whatever was troubling Glorfindel. Truth was, Glorfindel had not been acting like his usual self since Elrond and Gil-galad had gone away to battle and Erestor often wondered if Glorfindel would rather be on the battlefront than here in Imladris. "The war must not come here. We have few defenses that could hold back armies, particularly those from Mordor." He sighed and stood up, pacing to where the window was. This window looked out over the training fields of Imladris. There were young Elves out in the fields, taking their first lessons with the most basic of all weapons: the quarterstaff. "Shouldn't you be out there teaching them?" Erestor mused aloud, turning to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel shook his head. "They wouldn't want me," he muttered in Quenya, the formal Elven language that was rarely spoken outside of ceremonial purposes. He was still sitting down in the chair he'd remained in for much of the day already and he folded his hands together in his lap.

Erestor only raised an eyebrow, an expression he had picked up from Lord Elrond. He turned around to face Glorfindel, his arms crossed. "You are one of the best warriors of all time, Glorfindel," he said, shaking his head. "Why wouldn't they want you to teach?" Glorfindel shrugged, and Erestor saw this as a chance to keep pushing Glorfindel. "You've changed since Elrond and Gil-galad left. I can see it in your eyes," he continued. He was thoroughly annoyed with Glorfindel, but also full of concern for his friend. "You used to talk openly about things, but not anymore. You used to smile and laugh and tease all the other Elves and make random comments during council sessions, but no longer. What's going on, Glorfindel?"

At this moment, Glorfindel rose from his chair and drew himself to his full height. He was a few inches taller than Erestor and quite a bit heavier, but this was mostly from muscle. He straightened out his council robes and his long hair. "You have my leave to go," he said, his light voice becoming much lower and darker. One of his long, graceful fingers pointed in the direction of the door.

Erestor frowned. "You know you can talk to me, Glorfindel," he said. "We always used to be able to talk. Why must it be so different now, mellon-nin?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, I cannot," he said simply. "You wouldn't understand." As he spoke, these words pained his heart and he had to force himself to hold back tears that were threatening. If only Erestor knew what plagued him, then perhaps things would be different. But, no, Erestor could not know. No one else could know. Glorfindel turned away. "I will be in my quarters," he said. With that, he walked out of the council chambers, letting the doors slam behind him.

Erestor sighed. What was going on with Glorfindel that he obviously didn't want to talk about? Was it something that made him vulnerable? Erestor had known his friend to act this way on occasion before, something that the councilor had merely attributed to Glorfindel's previous missions as a warrior, a Balrog slayer. But what could possibly make his friend so vulnerable? He glanced out the windows and let his thoughts slip deep into his mind. He needed time to ponder this.


End file.
